#michael langdon reader

IT DIDN’T COME THRU LAST NIGHT! BUT NOW THAT IT DID 🥵

@lvngdvns

I’m ***

Like Duncan’s tongue darting into your mouth after Michael let his spit drip in your mouth... you’re being careful not to swallow one drop (because lord know the punishment that’d come from that) so when his swift tongue glides over yours, it mixes the cocktail of spit and cum that was collecting on your tongue. The corner of his own mouth curving into a smile as he allows Michael’s spit (and your own saliva) to coat his hot and heavy tongue. 

All the while, Michael is tugging at himself watching the scene before him. Pink tongues touching and dancing for his viewing pleasure. “Filthy little thing.” he shook his head in feigned disappointment, “You won’t know where I end and Shepherd begins. Tonight, we’re one.” he reaches forward and brings Duncan’s chin up to kiss him too. 

Their kiss isn’t as languid as the one you shared with Duncan. Forceful grunts and low moans are muffled by their crashing lips as they balance out their dominance. After pulling away from the kiss, both men turn to look at you - all splayed out for them with your fingers rapidly toying with yourself. 

Michael took your wrist to stop you from continuing. “No one said you could touch yourself, baby.” Duncan rasped into your ear. He took both your hands and pinned them above your head.

You looked into Duncan’s eyes, silently pleading for him for some sort of release. “Ple-” before you could even get half of the word out, you felt a hot sensation travel down your already wet cunt. 

Michael peeked up at your from his dark lashes. He repeated himself, collecting his sweet, sticky, saliva and spitting it directly on to your pussy. 

It was not uncommon for Michael to pick up on the subtle changes in your mood. Being that he is the child of the devil, he has abilities that even the Supreme is not capable of. It is no surprise then when he walks into the meeting with the Cooperative members that he feels the shift in your mood. Sitting in your usual seat, you are uncomfortable and, by your facial expression, clearly annoyed at the conversation going on.

There is something else though. You seem to be glowing. It's a natural but at the same time ethereal radiance. Blocking out the other distractions in room, Michael picks up on the tiny presence that was not there before. His heart begins racing; the drumming in his ears causes him to lose his focus on the little flickering aura. Scanning your figure quickly, Michael’s eyes again settle on your stomach and the way you have folded your hands over it. It's as if your mind unconsciously knows about the new life growing inside you. He wonders why you would keep this from him but after a short inner debate comes to the conclusion that you haven't realized you're pregnant yet. If you knew, you wouldn’t be able to keep it from him for this long. You both want a child too much.

Note :I refuse to accept that awful ending that Ryan Murphy created. So, this is my take on the event after Michael “dies”.

Thank you for all the wonderful authors out there” You guys are my inspiration!

English isn’t my first language, I apologize for my errors.

                                       .  .  .

         The first memory I have of my life are not pictures, but a feeling, so powerful that stood by me for my entire existence.

         Loneliness

         Not by abandon or negligence; my parents were always kind and caring with me. Our home was usually filled with relatives. They came and went all the time.

          And yet, I always felt like I was the odd one out. Like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit.

          And, in time, the other pieces started to make sense to me; not thanks to my doctors my mom insisted on taking me every week, or the daily exams my dad made me do.

         “How can she already know how to read?”

         “How does she know that, Margot? Chess is a tricky game, even for adults!”

          “Where did she learn how to count? She can barely walk”

            No. It was from the conversations I picked on when the adults were in the rom. That’s where I heard from the first time words such as “study”, “immaculate” and “conception”.

            What did they meant?

             It was from during that time strange people start to come to our house.

               After they left, I remember sitting on my window’s balcony and look at each face; not a single adult was looking at me, their focus was on my parents. Talking as if I wasn’t present.

              “She’s such a delicate little thing.”

               But I saw them. Every single one. Inside out.

               That was when I realized. I was nothing like them.

 .   .   .

               It happened at night. It was pouring and the noise my window was making when the wind crossed it seemed like an howl. Except that wasn’t what woke me.

               It was the first time I dreamt of him.

A little boy, same age as me. He was alone, like me, crouching on the floor, next to a bed, playing with water. I wanted nothing more than to go and play with him.

               “Hi” Silence.

               “I’m YN. Do you wanna pla…” I stood beside him, getting a full view of the scene. It looked like he didn’t hear me.

               “You…”  my bile went straight up. TI still remember it: It wasn’t a pool of water he had under his hands. It was blood.

               There was a dead puppy under the bed, and he was just starring at it, still as a statue.

               I shouted and yet, he didn’t notice me.

               I woke up kicking and screaming from the top of my lungs. When my mother came to me and I told her about the little boy with bloody hands, she dismissed me, like it was something normal.

               “You’re a very special child, YN. There’s a lot going on inside that pretty head of yours.”

               Except, this wasn’t my creation. That much I knew. Which is why I couldn’t sleep on that room by myself after. I sat on the ground and, on it’s darkness, I kept staring the night sky from my window.

               I don’t know how long I was there, just that I wasn’t moving .My body felt frozen, still my mind seemed to float.

               “It’s alright YN”

               A voice, that was coming through me. Except, it wasn’t. It wasn’t like any voice I’ve ever heard.

               At same very same moment, a flash cut the sky and, if I had looked behind me ,I’d see a shadow of two silhouettes on my back.

.   .   .

               I don’t like people.

               No, that’s not true. I do. I’m just not interested on them.

               That was much certain to me when things started to change.

               To me was like an invisible pull and a whispering, showing me what  people wanted me to do.

               The first time, I was playing on our backyard while dad worked with the chainsaw. He fell, and when I got close enough, his body was in a weird position.

               “Daddy?” That was my first contact with death.

               ”Help him” It said “You can help him YN”

               My hands were drawn to his wounds and, instantly, it closed.

               “You did good” the voice said.

               But that was not what my daddy told me.

               “What did you do girl?”

.  .  .

               People are hungry.

               No matter how much they have, still is not enough.

               I could help people.

               I wanted to help them.

               Until, I didn’t anymore.

               From terminal illness, wounds, broken limbs, to venereal diseases and paper cuts.

               It was never enough for them.

               My parents opened our doors 24/7 to strangers. And they just couldn’t stop coming.

               “A gift” that’s what they called it “Must be shared”

               I was exhausted.

               And no one cared about me.

               I was three years old.

.  .  .

                 If I didn’t have a moment to rest while I was awake, I had when my parents let me sleep. And dreamt with the little  blond boy .It was reassuring, seeing him, there was something that brought me calm.

               Even knowing that he hurted someone.

               Every time I called, screamed for him, always. But he kept getting further and further away from me.

               My worst nightmare was to never be able to dream with him. The little boy I wanted so much to call my friend.

               Because, otherwise, I would be completely alone.

.  .  .

                 To me, it was something natural.

               I went to bed as  a little girl in my bed, and woke up with my parents screaming.

               “WHO ARE YOU?!”

               “Good morning daddy.”

               “MARGOT,GET IN HERE!”

.  .  .

              I was tall! Enough to reach thing on the top shelf; my legs allowed me to run faster through the backyard. I was even taller than my mamma!

              And the voices keep whispering to me.

             “What do you want me to do Lucas?” I heard my mom on the phone one day “Money? But we already charged…”

            “Excuse me, missy” I got my attention towards the person in front of me. And the line that followed. Each day it got bigger and bigger, and the voices just kept pushing me.

             “Be good. Have patience. Help them.”

             It was as if I was stuck inside a wheel. Give and give and give.

             And my parents charged from others?

            I found out when I was speaking to a woman that didn’t want to admit that her husband left her.

           “Ma’am, what can I do?” I didn’t understand any of that. How do I fix emotions?

           “I paid good money for your results, young lady !You have to fix this!”

           What?

. .  .

            Is that what you want me to do?

           I wasn’t allowed to leave my room anymore “Too distracting” my parents said. Every moment there was buzz downstairs. Clothes delivery ,new furniture, desperate people paying  a lot of money to talk to me about their “problems”. Futile and shallow.

           It was all my parents wanted.

            Is this humanity? Personal  and immediate interest ?Material rewards?

           I figured it out. The more I kept to myself, more I could absorb from others. It wasn’t just about mom and dad and their growing gluttony; it was everyone else. People were desperate about things that didn’t concern them; always blaming others for their faults; waiting for someone else to fix their mistakes.

         Yes

        I took one of my dad’s cigarettes, the ones he stashed from my mom. At night I could walk freely on the house without anyone disturbing me. They thought they could control me.

       “Argh, this is horrible” Why do people use stuff they know is not good for them?

       “Are they that dumb?” I stopped in front of their bedroom. Mom and dad looked so peaceful, swallowed by the materialistic opulence of everything they didn’t need ,but want. And me, their  golden goose.

       “This is not what I want” I whispered as my mom moved .She was still sore, plastic surgery does that to you, she said. And dad was also sore, from screwing his PA.

        “You are all so little” How could God allow such people to exist?

        “Don’t think about it ,YN. That’s not your job. Be good, help them” The voice spoke .Only, this time, for the first time, I noticed how it hesitated.

         Fuck you.

. .  .  

         I never looked back. That’s not where my life was going. I let go .Of everything.

         My parents ,that house, people.

          And then, my path was clear.

         It was as if an arrow guided me to my destination. The little boy, only now he wasn’t so little .He grew ,like me. And he needed help.

          Michael.

. .  .

         It was too late.

          He was stretched out on the ground. Blood all over, his body twisted in painful angles. That wasn’t suppose to happen.

         “No, no, no” I cradled his hand, leaning towards him. There was no one near .Please, please

          “Please, Michael. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” I was sobbing uncontrollably. What was the point of all that violence? “Open your eyes, please”.

         I don’t know who or what made it possible, but he opened them and, for a split second, I couldn’t breathe. They were the bluest color I’ve ever seen.

        “Who…”He was choking on his own blood, and yet, something in his eyes said that he knew who I was. “I know…you”.

        “Yes! You know me, Michael! You’ve always know me” My whole body was shaking, he was coming back! His wounds were closing and the color of his body was coming back.

         “I couldn’t hear you. I wanted to. I saw you, but I couldn’t.”He was gripping me with such force, unnatural for someone who went through what he did, but I wasn’t letting go.

         “I know ,I tried to reach you. All this time I’ve been so alone” My tears mixed with his. It felt like a weight has been lifted of my soul.

          “So did I YN”

          When he said this, it was as if the wheel was broken. There was nothing or anyone more important in this planet.

         “Now we don’t have  to walk alone”

. .  .

Mallory’s POV

          It was another sunny day, and my sisters and I decided to enjoy. Madison wanted new clothes, and apparently an entourage/audience as well. Reminiscences of her Hollywood days, I guess. It’s not like I didn’t mind to go.

          Ever since I came back, I let go of petty things, fights that wouldn’t add up to my life. The world was safe, and all was well.

           I never told anyone about it. And that’s fine, because I know that what matters is preserved.

           I wasn’t really paying much attention to Madison and Zoe’s daily quarrel, nor Coco and Quennie wanting to go in a different direction, or even how bright and sunny it was.

           “Hey, watch it!” I was so absorbed in my mind that I only realized Madison was cursing at pets when they crossed the street.

            “It’s just kittens, Madison” A black and white one ran straight to a couple on the other side.

             “Yeah, well, contrary to popular belief, not all witches like cats”

              They’re an young couple. The man was tall, blond and wore black from head to toe. The woman was tall as well, long hair. She was wearing a blue dress. They walked gazing at each other, which is why I couldn’t see their faces, but from their body language, even a blind man could see they were in love. It seemed that the cats made wave for them.

              “I hate those furry things.”

               For some reason, I couldn’t stop to stare at them. The street was crowded, and it was not as if they stood out from everyone else. It looked like a simple sight: an young couple walking down the street.

               It was their posture. From the way they walked together, I couldn’t see where one started and the other ended.

                Something looked awfully familiar.

                Shit

. .  .

 Third Person’s POV

               “What’s the matter my love?”The man asked, tightening his hold on his companion’s waist.

“               You know what. The witch is watching us” The woman pouted. He loved when she did that. He loved everything about his love, and the fact she cared so much more about his safety than hers, only made him love her more and more.

                “I know, wife .But really, does she even matter to us?”He asked, his her forehead.

                   From the moment Michael met YN, nothing else mattered. Not his so called family, whom never wanted him; nor his father, who left him at mercy .Not even his “great purpose”, to bring destruction to the world. Nothing.

                   Only his YN. His  friend. His companion. His wife. His soulmate.

                  She helped him, accepted him as he was and loved him since they were children.

                  That’s real love .It’s what he always craved for, but never knew, until they found each other.

                  His true purpose.

                   Was to be with her.

                   “No” She sighed, leaning on him. Like always, words weren’t needed for the other to know what they were thinking.

Summary: Michael will stop at nothing to get what is his (Michael Langdon x Reader) Warnings: Mentions of violence, gun violence, and death.

The sounds of bullets ricocheting throughout the house startle you. Shattering glass is accompanied by the panicked shrill screams of the girls downstairs. Their pain and fear are obvious. Bolting up from your chair, you rush towards the ajar door questioning whether you should go see what is happening or stay within the safety of your room. With bated breath, you peek out only catching small slivers of the empty hallway. Whoever is down there is not allowing for any chance of escape. Each set of hurried footsteps is immediately followed by a shot going off. Taking in a ragged breath, you shakily reach to open the door just as another round of gunfire erupts making you stumble backward. . . . Thud. Another girl falls victim to the attacker.  . . . Silence.

That’s all you hear now besides the drum of your racing heart. It’s eerie but you know you can’t stay in the bedroom anymore. With hesitant steps, you walk past the empty rooms of the girls that were attending class downstairs. Reaching the staircase, your courage wavers but you reassure yourself that your powers are more than enough to defend yourself with.

Your descent on the stairs is halted by the confrontation in front of you. Cordelia stands rigid several steps below you. Her knuckles are white from how hard she grips the railing. Anger is rolling off her in waves. She's more than ready to attack the intruder in defense of the coven. 

At the bottom of the staircase, Michael stands there smirking up at her. Cordelia and the coven have been a constant nuisance to him. With his arrogance on full display, it seems like he is more than confident that this plan will end any hopes that the witches have of beating him.

“You thought this was over?” He chuckles finding it funny she even considered the war over. 

“You won’t get away with this,” Cordelia promises fiercely glaring down at him. Disinterested, he waves off her threat. 

“You can have those of your coven that have managed to survive. I’m not here to obliterate you just yet. I want to savor it when I do,” his eyes narrow and his smirk widens at the distressed look that crosses Cordelia’s face, “I want to see the fear and realization in your eyes when I wipe you all out. Unfortunately, I didn’t come here for that today.”

The pleasure he takes in sharing that information with her sends shivers down your spine.

“Then what do you want? Why are you here?” Cordelia throws rapid-fire questions at him. She desperately wants to check on the rest of the coven but knows she must be cautious in this situation. His power is too great, especially in her weakened state.

His intense gaze shifts off of her and onto you.

“I’m here to get my girl.”  

Rocking on your heels, you aren’t sure what to do next. Michael and Mead are going on like everything is normal but this is definitely not normal for you. Feeling your hesitation, Mead suggests that Michael show you around. After a quick tour of the house, he finally leads you upstairs. Pointing out that his room is just down the hall, Michael allows you into your room to relax; stating he’d get you when dinner is ready. 

Eating dinner with Michael and Mead is not how you expected to end the day. Let’s be honest: this day hasn’t gone how you expected at all. From the coven being gunned down to you being kidnapped, this was a shit show of a day. 

You push the food around on your plate as the two discuss topics of no importance to you. Your eyes focus in on the small knife that is beside your plate. It could be of use if you’re able to hide it away without them knowing. Too absorbed in their conversation, they don’t take notice of you watching them intently; waiting for the perfect moment. Sliding the small steak knife in between the layer of your cloth napkin, you slip it into your lap. 

The night came quickly and each of you retires for the evening. You're feeling less like a prisoner after being granted access to the entire house. Although, you were given a stern warning by Mead that if you tried to leave she wouldn’t hesitate to kill you only for Michael to bring you back to life. You heed her warning not wanting to go through the experience of the personalized hell you’ve heard so much about. Instead of escaping brazenly, you decide to ward your door with magic; wanting to secure it in case either of them try anything while you sleep. As you prepare for bed, your thoughts are brought back to the knife that now lays on the bed. Knowing you can use it to your advantage, you decide to make the most out of the opportunity. Pressing your ear against the door, you listen for any movement; there is none. The house is quiet signaling that everyone has gone to bed. 

You try to walk stealthily through the hallway, wincing each time the floorboards squeak in protest. Seeing his door come into view, you steel yourself for what will happen next. Thankfully, the door is not as sensitive as the floorboards; no creaking. Opening the door, you take in the outline of Michael’s body and the steady rise and fall of his bare chest.